


Porcelain Black & Fury Red

by lookingoodsugar



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-10 04:26:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17419088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingoodsugar/pseuds/lookingoodsugar
Summary: Patron-Minette and l'Abaissé are the two bands which usually play at the Quagmire however, some rivalry has sprung between the two bands. On a quest to find which band is the best, they settle for the most pure and admirable way of choosing: with a Battle of the Bands tournament.





	Porcelain Black & Fury Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jehan Prouvaire is a chaotic good and Montparnasse is just _there_.

There were nights when it felt like fucking with the crowd. Those were his favorites. People sharing his passion for music even for just a few hours. A symphony of moving bodies, skin to skin, heart laid bare. Complete anonymity. Tonight was not one of these nights. 

The crowd was lame at best. Indie girls who all looked the same, typical losers putting their cigarettes out on other people’s shirts, hipsters and junkies. Montparnasse’s eyes glazed over the mismatched sea of faces. Fuck them. Fuck their restricted vision of art. Fuck the way they dress and the way they act. Leave realness to arti-. Is this guy groping this girl? Montparnasse squinted until his vision was blurry but tall people kept getting in the way. He cut himself in the middle of the song, right before his favorite part. The sacrifices he does sometimes!

“Hey! Are you okay, red-headed girl?” 

People’s head scanned the crowd to see who he might have been referring too and Montparnasse caught a glance of the girl kneeing the guy in the guts. His eyebrow shot up.

“Way to go!” He laughed. 

Unfortunately, badass-girl and ugly-pig were forced out of the venue and Montparnasse felt sorry for her. Or maybe not, tonight wasn’t good anyway, she was probably better off beating the shit out of some basement loser with a brain the size of a pea. Part of him hoped for blood tonight. The other part was busy keeping track of Brujon’s drumming to fall back into the song. At the right beat, he eyed Gueulemer who simply nodded and strummed his guitar. It always struck Montparnasse how tall and lanky his guitar made Gueulemer. Behind him Brujon looked huge behind his drum kit. Claquesous and his bass looked made for one another. Babet… Babet played the keyboard, there wasn’t much to say except from the fact that at the exact moment Montparnasse looked at him, he knocked over his beer over the console, missing the only few notes he had to play. For fuck’s sake. 

Montparnasse was wearing an opened black leather jacket that revealed his tattooed chest because he was, after all, emo as fuck. Also, his tattoos stood out more this way. Montparnasse was known for his good looks. He was also known for his ability to pick up fights, but that wasn't the point.  
Perhaps the high waisted black leather pants he was wearing were too much because the second he moved his hips, a girl in the front row fainted, and they had to stop the show again. Someone started pushing and before anyone realized, a fight had picked up. Punches were thrown and Montparnasse slid through the crowd, pick pocketing a guy on the way because why miss an opportunity. Also, that wallet was very obnoxious and too easy to grab. He reached the troublemakers at the exact moment one of them aimed for the other who ducked. The fist landed right on Montparnasse’s face. 

***

Montparnasse closed his eyes. Why had he woken up today? He crossed his feet on the amp lying around in the lounge, his fingers pressed against his bloody nose. Karma was a bitch. His clothes felt tight and his lungs even more. For a second he thought he couldn’t breathe then he remembered there was tissue up his nostrils. For some reason, he was angry at everything. Okay, tonight was a bad night but still, he hated when show were called off. Music was his thing, his hour of rest, his oasis in the sea of clusterfuck his life was recently.  
Someone shoved his feet off the amp and he snapped his head up, ready to bark at one of the guys from Patron-Minette. 

“Feuilly?”

His step-brother looked at him with squinted eyes, his red hair ferocious and ruffled. 

“What the fuck, Parnasse? How stupid are you? You’re gonna get yourself kicked out of the venue someday!”

Montparnasse sighed, his anger suddenly melting. He wiped some blood of his fingers, averting Feuilly’s gaze. 

“What happened after?” He simply asks. 

“The guys from the second set are playing, troublemakers are out and the girl who fainted is okay. You can’t just jump in the crowd to stop fights, security is here for that. These guys were twice your size!”

Montparnasse sniffed with disdain. He had picked up fights with worse. There was this one time, this guy had pushed him from the window, that had been something. These guys back there were nothing. 

“I’m tougher than I look…”

“You cried watching the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants.” 

“Lies! All lies! Faux frère, I’ll knife you! Defamation!” Montparnasse yelled at his step-brother.

Feuilly snorted at the moment the guys from Patron-Minette walked in. Montparnasse pointed a finger at him.

“Speak of this to anyone and you die!” He whispered angrily. 

The red-headed man just held his hand up in total harmlessness and smiled before exiting the room.

Montparnasse leaned back in his chair, the fabric of his jacket sliding on his skin to reveal his torso. On his pale skin, black fought for dominance. Tortuous, evil and cruel. Claquesous handed him a cup, presumably alcohol, and Montparnasse downed it. The boys started complaining about trivial things and the youngest doze off, his mind sauntering to red-haired girls and music to be written. He got up for a cigarette and exited the building by the backdoor.  
The night had already set its black veil on the city, and Montparnasse took some time to adjust to the unlit back alley. He lit up his cigarette, only noticing the other person as the lighter emitted a small flame. It was the red-haired girl, looking up at the starry sky. She was wearing burgundy high waisted shorts with a dark green shirt which could have looked good hadn’t they been worn with striped knee socks of the ugliest colors and bright orange Converses. 

“Hey,” Montparnasse called out. “The fashion police called, they admire your guts but despise your outfit.”

The girl turned on her heels, her loose hair swinging gracefully behind her. Her features were thin but definitely not of a girl. 

“You’re a boy,” let out Montparnasse, startled. 

“I identify with they/them pronouns,” answered the stranger with a smile. “You stopped the show for me, thank you.”

Their voice was deep, deeper than Montparnasse had imagined, but he had thought they were a girl so. 

“What are you doing out there?” Montparnasse asked, his voice cracking for some reason. He cleared up his throat and straightened his posture, taking a drag of his cigarette. 

“Waiting for my friends to come out, as I’m not allowed back in.”

Oh yes, Javert's take on troublemakers. The venue's chief of security had this very strict policy of kicking out people who picked up fights or tried to climb on stage without letting them back in for the second set, Montparnasse thought of it as unnecessary. 

"Do you want me to sneak you back in?" He finally offered, gesturing toward the door behind him. 

The guy's face lit up, a smile eating half of their face. Their hair seemed to glow in the dark from joy, which, for the record, Montparnasse thought was very cute. He put out his cigarette with the sole of his dark boots and threw it on the ashtray before opening the door with his butt. 

"They're with me," he told the security guy waiting backstage. The big guy frowned at the pronoun but didn't stop them, only glaring at the other's outfit. Montparnasse led the red-haired to a side of the stage where they could see properly the band. It was a new one, maybe their first gig. He seemed to recall Feuilly had mentioned them, perhaps saying they were friends?  
Behind the drumset, a man about the same size as half the guys from Patron-Minette was softly humming the beat, probably counting to know exactly when to kick in. He had his hair tied in a Viking-like braid, and he truly looked like one. Both of his arm were covered in intricate tattoos, almost like curved wood on his tanned skin.  
In front of him, a guy with curly black hair was jumping around playing the bass. He was only wearing a bow tie and dark chinos, and the view was rather spectacular, Montparnasse might say. His grin was huge and it gave him dimples. His bass was of a bright red and his left arm was tattooed too.  
The guitarist was a small Asian guy with freckles that seemed to have his own private fan club on the front row. Okay, the fan club was only one bald guy and a dark-skinned girl, but they were very enthusiastic. They all looked about the same age except him and the singer who looked seventeen, but they might have been older.  
Behind the mic, where Montparnasse had been standing earlier, there was a guy with blond curls that surrounded his head like a halo. He was playing on a keyboard, his voice rolling on the notes, almost setting the crowd in a trance. Montparnasse considered himself quite the expert on outfit picking but this guy really knew how to do it. Everything about his clothes yelled "punk!" and Montparnasse almost choked when he turned his head. One side of his head was shaved, and he was sporting quite a number of earrings. He was definitely the kind of dude Montparnasse aspired to be. Or so he thought before realizing what the guy was singing about.

"Is he... singing about the French Revolution?" he asked the red-headed beside him. 

"That's Enjolras for you." They replied in a laugh, their head moving to the beat. 

Before he had time to dwell on that very strange acknowledgment, Montparnasse spotted Javert coming in backstage. At that exact moment, the guitar player dropped his guitar and fell to the floor. The dark-skinned girl climbed the barricade in a swift movement that left Montparnasse bewildered. Was she human? She rushed to the guy that was apparently having a panic attack, the bald guy close behind her. Montparnasse tried to grab the red-haired to hide them but Javert was quicker, yanking their arm, almost making them trip as they were too trying to attend the Asian dude on stage. 

"You?!" The chief of security yelled before Montparnasse intervened, placing himself between the two. 

"They're with me, Javert! Shouldn't you be attending to the people crossing over the barricade?" Montparnasse suggested and Javert squinted at him. 

"Watch the way you talk Mr. Montparnasse, it's not because you're the singer I can't have you kicked out. Furthermore, Mr. Feuilly told me earlier one of them was a doctor, I'm sure they'll have this sorted in no time."

"The doctor is the one who's _having_ the panic attack!" Yelled the red-haired, yanking his arm out. "Chetta, is he okay?" They asked the girl on the stage as they joined her.

Javert turned and left to mend the crowd, but not before glaring at Montparnasse who glared in return. 

"What a shit show," said a voice behind Montparnasse and he spun to discover Claquesous, his bass strapped behind his back. "Do you think they'll do a refund?"

"Hope not," Gueulemer added, right behind him. "I want my share."

"I got mine," Montparnasse said, taking the wallet he picked pocketed earlier out of the depths of his leather jacket. 

Gueulemer laughed aloud, as if it was some private joke to them. Well, Montparnasse's abilities at pick pocketing _were_ renowned among his friends, but they knew the only time he could have done it is when he dove in the crowd to end up getting punched. They seemed quite impressed.

"You pick pocketed someone in the crowd?" Said a voice, bewildered. Montparnasse turned to the ginger-haired looking at him with a shocked expression. They had returned from the stage, probably to thank Parnasse but it seemed now they were most likely considering either smacking him or just walking away. Montparnasse's cheeks felt hot. He wasn't ashamed he had done it, he was just ashamed cute-ginger-dude has seen it.

He almost apologized but shrugged it off, just checking the name inside. "Is Jeremy Martin a friend of yours?"

The other shook his head. Montparnasse closed the wallet.

"Then I'm keeping it."

They shook their head once more, still bewildered before walking away. 

"Guess you're not getting laid tonight, Parnasse!" Laughed Claquesous, punching the youngest's shoulder.

Montparnasse frowned. Had he wanted to get laid with the cute-ginger-non-binary-badass-dude? The thought wasn't unpleasant.  
Too bad, then.

As the band came out of the venue later, Montparnasse thought of lingering to ask the red-haired for their name but for some reason, his anger had come back, and he just kept walking. He had parted way with the guys from Patron-Minette from a good fifteen minutes when he realized someone was following him. It was a man in his forties, with an unkempt beard and a beer-stained shirt. Montparnasse smiled to himself. The night had just gotten better.

As they passed near a narrow dark alley, the man grabbed Montparnasse by the hips and pushed him against the wall.

"Want to feel some inches, lover boy?" The man whispered in his ear, his breath reeking of cheap liquor.

Montparnasse just laughed, watching the man's assurance shake. 

"I don't know," he said, fidgeting in his pockets, "do you?"

He pressed his blade against the man's belly. "I stab you here, you'll be gone in fifteen minutes."

He moved the blade to the man's thigh, right against his femoral artery. "Here, you'll be gone in ten, wishing it had been five."

Maybe Karma did work in mysterious ways.


End file.
